


Enforcer

by InsaneTrollLogic



Series: Hockey!verse [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Hockey, NHL AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneTrollLogic/pseuds/InsaneTrollLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dresden accidentally soulgazes Watson. [part of the hockey!AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enforcer

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ 6/15/2011.
> 
> It seemed a bit silly to have multiple hockey verses. The stories are only loosely connected.

It's not like I ever meant to be an enforcer. I'd been pushed into the game as a kid by a mentor who in retrospect definitely knew having a wizard in the NHL was going to be a bit of a boon. At the time he'd called it an outlet. A means of managing aggression and I'd eaten it up.  
  
Of course, my style of hockey is a lot like my style of wizard.  
  
I liked to hit things. Which wasn't so much managing anger as unleashing it. I'd contemplated changing it, but I'd spend most of my career fighting for my sweater and I most of my life fighting for monsters of some sort of monster so it was a hard habit to break. My position on the ice also explained a good half of why the council thought I was a complete head case. In my defense I didn't start fights unless the other person deserves it.   
  
Or asked really nicely.  
  
That's me, Harry Dresden, enforcer with a heart of gold.  
  
Except the heart of gold part tended to fly out the window the second the puck dropped. The Atlanta Thrashers had been on a bit of a tear since February when their goaltender finally got his legs under him. They still weren't going to make the playoffs, but Chicago was not a team to take anyone lightly when the home ice advantage was at risk.   
  
It happened only ten minutes into the game, on a face-off just to the left of Sherlock Holmes. Some guys in the league have a funny sort of thing about eye contact. I was generally adept at avoiding them, especially during a game. There was a trick to it. Focusing on a visor instead of eyes, staring just off center. Enough to save face, but not enough to get drawn into a soulgaze.  
  
But John Watson made eye contact, and I didn't realize I'd returned it until I was already drawn in.  
  
Every soulgaze was different. Every soulgaze was dangerous. The person looking back got just as good a look at me as I did at them. And Watson was steeped in  _history_. The phrase old soul was coined for people like him. Look at John Watson was like a continuous echo, there was war, their was mystery and always, there was a Holmes.  
  
The two men were linked in a way I'd never seen before, their faces always a little different, but the substance the same. Moustached, Victorian, bloodied, centuries old. A detective and a doctor. A goaltender and his defenseman.   
  
The United Center swam back into focus, my legs leaden underneath me. Watson looked shaken. There was no way I could possibly focus on hockey this shift.   
  
"Fight?" I asked Watson.  
  
"Oh God, yes," Watson replied.  
  
And we dropped the gloves.


End file.
